


Blood

by Yods



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Description of Injuries, Gen, Possibly Pre-Slash, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 13:50:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19297042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yods/pseuds/Yods
Summary: Stiles and Derek get trapped together after a cave-in.It's fine, they're fine, until they're not.





	Blood

"Are you sure?"  
There is no reply from the pitch-black darkness. Stiles can feel his heartbeat picking up with the throbbing in his leg. "Derek?!" 

 

"No. I found an exit and left without you." Derek is closer than he expected, still echoing faintly.

 

There is no need to admit to the flush of relief at hearing his voice.  
"You don’t have to be a jackass. There could be a gap between the rocks somewhere that I just can't see. Since we can't see anything. And just think how stupid it would be if people found our bodies here months later and there's this huge gap and we're just lying here starved to death in the dark like idiots and--" 

 

"Stiles, shut up." 

 

"Oh screw you. You can punch through solid rock, why aren't you punching through solid rock? Why are we even still here?" He tries to lift his head, but it's just too much effort. The back of his head is tacky with blood, his hair sticking to the ground. "Ugh." He is too tired to panic anyway.

 

"I can punch through a wall.” Derek sounds infuriatingly calm. “I can't punch through however thick fallen rocks this is. And I'm not going to try because the ceiling is not stable so stop. shouting." 

 

"Fine, jeez."  
Derek is probably glaring at him at this point, but there is no way to tell. What a waste. And shouting is painful, anyway. Actually everything is painful. Every movement pulls on his leg and sets it on fire. He'd have to try to breathe more quietly.  
In the dead silence.  
Underground.  
Where they were trapped. All he can hear is himself panting. "How long do you think we've been down here?" 

 

There's a pause that is probably accompanied by an eye-roll. "A couple of hours." 

 

"How long before the pack realised you're missing?" 

 

An even longer pause. A scatter of gravel that must mean Derek is shuffling his feet. "Your dad will probably notice you're missing first." 

 

He tries to shift to a more comfortable position without moving at all. The rock is mercifully cool underneath his throbbing leg.  
"That might... take a while. He's been working double shifts and late nights for a while now. He might not notice I'm gone." And there, that was depressing. "I mean he's really busy, what with the drama at the station lately and a shortage of deputies and--" 

 

"And your father might not even notice that you're missing." 

 

Stiles sniffs. The air is unpleasantly musty. "There's no need for the judgy tone. He's busy. And it's not like we talk much given that I'm lying to him about werewolves all the time. And who’s fault is--" 

 

"So he's avoiding you. Probably won't look good if this takes a couple of days and he doesn't know how long you've been missing." 

 

"Lay off my dad, jerkass. It's not like anyone's going to miss you." Because anyone who would actually miss Derek is dead, his conscience quietly brings up. But he never actually listens to his conscience anyway. 

 

Derek grunts. He can’t quite tell how far away he is. "Fine. Scott will--" 

 

"Scott and Allison are back together. He wouldn't notice if I dropped dead." He winces at the unfortunate phrasing, and then winces some more as the movement pulls at the gash at his temple.

 

"So we could be stuck here together for days before someone notices." 

 

Always count on Derek to look on the bright side. But he was missing something.  
"My delightful company is not actually the problem here. A person can only survive like three days without water." 

 

"Probably less if you're injured." 

 

A stone drops and scatters somewhere in the distance. They both listen as it falls to silence. No-one there.

 

"Thank you for that, Derek.” Since no amount of eye-rolling is going to get through the darkness he makes sure to get the maximum amount of sarcasm in his voice.  
“How long can a werewolf survive without water?" 

 

"Longer." 

 

"You have no idea, do you?" 

 

The only reply was the dwindling crunch of footsteps on gravel. And then silence. Listening to his own breathing was going to get really old really fast. 

 

"Derek." 

 

No reply. 

 

"Derek!" A little louder. The ceiling seems to groan. Just a few moments later the footsteps came back. "And did you find an exit?" 

 

"What do you think." 

 

"I think you're just pointlessly stumbling around in the dark." 

 

"Because you would be sitting perfectly still if you could actually walk right now." He is probably missing some epic grumpy expressions.

 

 

***  


 

 

The headache is getting worse. And the dark quiet is enough to make anyone restless. But moving is a terrible idea. Because if he moves anything he might jostle his leg and just no. So the dark quiet it is. Too quiet.  
"Derek?"

 

"I'm right here." 

 

"Obviously. Where else would you be. I wasn't scared."  
There is no response. Maybe he's hallucinating Derek. Maybe he really is all alone in the dark and it's been to long and...  
"Derek?" 

 

"Still here." 

 

"Oh thank God." Shit, don't give him the chance to respond. "So I've been thinking." 

 

A beleaguered sign drifts from couple of feet away. 

 

"You should eat me." 

 

This is followed by a more thoughtful kind of silence.  
"What." 

 

"It's like you said. You're likely to survive a lot longer down here than I am. If I die before you do you should eat me. So you can survive until rescue comes, or whatever." So this was pointlessly morbid, but any distraction from the bright, stabbing agony in his leg and the dull throbbing behind his eyes is more than welcome.

 

"I'm not going to eat you, Stiles. Besides, how would that even help me." 

 

"Vampires drink blood--" 

 

"I'm not a--" 

 

"--and dehydration is the main problem here, right? I'm mostly made of blood." 

 

"No." There’s a hint of a growl in Derek’s voice.

 

"Don't be ridiculous, there's no reason for us both to die." 

 

"No, Stiles." 

 

"But I--" I don't want to die for nothing, but that's probably a given in any case. Nope, not thinking about that. He drops the subject. Somewhere in the distance Derek wanders off again.

 

 

***  


 

 

The pattern of Derek's footsteps has gotten predictable. Away, and then silence, and then slowly returning. He'd gotten hissed at for laughing when he stumbled, but really you have to take your entertainment where you can. Not that it had really been worth it, because laughing meant moving, and that jostles his leg and that means fire and burning, stabbing pain so sharp he can’t breathe.  
Also he'd rubbed grit into his eyes when he woke up.

 

The footsteps start returning, just on the verge of what he could hear. Would it kill Derek to make some kind of sound so he can know for sure that it's him? That some threat wasn't creeping up on him while he was lying here defenceless. But all he got were quiet footsteps. That were getting louder. And faster, quickly. Because Derek is running. He stumbles in the dark but this time it isn't funny. What's going on?

 

"Dere--"

 

And his breath is knocked out because he's been tackled and his leg twist and then it's just pain and screaming and noise and the ceiling is coming down.

 

 

***  


 

 

He can't move, He's weighed down and he can't move and he can't breathe and his leg is on fire.

 

"Are you OK."

 

And he wants to scream at him that no he's not OK, nothing is OK and everything hurts but he can't breathe and there is dust in his nose and in his mouth and in his throat. He hacks and coughs and tries to claw at his throat but his arm is pinned.

 

There is another rumble of shifting rocks and Derek moves on top of him. The weight on  
his arm lifts.

 

"Fuck."  
He's still coughing but now at least he can breathe and as long as he doesn't think about his leg that still hurts like shit but there's nothing he can do about that.  
Derek moves again and he's probably been coughing directly into his face but that is so low on his list of priorities right now, right under his leg, his leg, still his leg God that hurts, and possibly breathing and their impending deaths.

 

"Are you OK, Stiles." Derek has the temerity to sound impatient.

 

"No I'm not fucking OK. You can get off me now."  
There is some vague shuffling and heart-stopping grating sounds of stone moving on stone and he can feel the warmth of a werewolfy body cuddled up next to him. 

 

"Fine. Are you more severely injured than you were before." 

 

"I am approximately as severely injure as I was before, if a bit extra battered and traumatised you fucking robot. Also you are way not off me enough."

 

"There is no more off possible."

 

"What?" He sticks out his hand and hits solid stone. A bit of flailing proves solid stone in all directions.  
"No, no, no." Pushing at the rock face just above him has no effect. A insta-coffin just big enough for two. Cozy. He can't really breathe well enough for a panic attack but it looks like he's heading there anyway.

 

"Stiles."

 

They were stuck. They were really stuck and it could take days before anyone even missed them and even then how long will it take for them to find the tunnels and dig them out and he can't move, he can't move and he can't see and everything hurts.

 

"Stiles!" 

 

He can actually feel Derek shouting in his face. His breath smells like apples, which is ridiculous.

 

"Fuck you. What?" His heart is beating so fast it hurts and he just wants it to stop and if that isn’t a bad idea.

 

"What do you know about first-aid?"

 

"Nothing, why?"

 

There is a moment of suspicious silence. "Your leg is pointing in the wrong direction."

 

Now there's a terrifying sentence. "What?"

 

"The... part below the break is pointing in a different direction from the part below the break."

 

So let’s not think about that at all. "How can you even tell?"

 

"I'm laying right next to you. I can feel it." Derek shifts slightly. "So is it better to leave it... pointing in the wrong direction, or do you risk more damage moving it to the right direction."

 

"Definitely no moving ever, under any circumstances."

 

Derek’s voice stays irritatingly level. "You said you don't know any first-aid."

 

"Yeah, but I know that moving the leg will hurt."

 

"I think I should move the leg."

 

"No."

 

The huff of a sigh hits the side of his face. Derek shifts a little.

 

"No, Derek, please." His voice cracks. He is totally willing to beg at this point. Everything already hurt more than he should be able to imagine. He isn’t going to let him make it worse.

 

There is a bit more squirming, and a cool hand lands on his thigh.

 

"Derek, come on, this is not necessary, we..." We're going to die here anyway. But he can’t say that.

 

"Just hang on."  
For a moment the hand tightens on his thigh and the pain goes down, and everything is good in the world, but then there's a sickening twist and fire and ice spread up his leg and stabs at his hip and his toes and he's screaming.  
"Fuck you." He still does not have his breath back, there's still dust in his throat.  
"Fuck you, that wasn't necessary."

 

"You don't know that."

 

He crosses his arms and is fully intending on giving Derek a piece of his mind but his breath is unsteady and silent treatment will work just as well. Derek settles in next to him, pressed as far back as the rock face will allow, probably. 

 

Stiles stretches out his arm to confirm this and manages to stick a finger in Derek's ear in the process. He has grit and something sticky in his hair. 

 

Derek huffs and shakes his head but does not say anything. They still have quite some time of unfortunate consciousness to go. Stiles closes his eyes, for a the difference it makes, and tries to slow down his heartbeat. His legs still stabs at him, his head throbs. He is hungry and thirsty and so, so tired. And he really wants to cry, but he won't give Derek the satisfaction. But most of all he really does not want to die on this dark hole in the ground. So instead he listens to Derek breathing and slowly falls asleep.

 

 

***  


 

 

When he wakes up he can still feel Derek's chest move against his arm with every breath. There is no other sound. When he swallows it sounds indecent, and his throat hurts so badly he immediately decides to not do that again. Derek is still breathing gently softly next to him, although where would he go? Hah. Serves him right.  
Derek who did not ask for any of this and is probably going to die down here too. The thought gives him an unexpected twinge.  
"Derek?"

 

He can feel the tilt of his head that is the only response.

 

"Are you OK?"

 

Derek’s breathing stills for a moment. "I..." he coughs. "I can think of things I'd rather be doing."

 

He can't quiet stifle a giggle and immediately regrets it. His head throbs and his throat stabs at him. "Ow, shit." That strangled sound had scarcely been a laugh anyway.

 

Derek sniffs in a way that could almost be interpreted as a laugh. "The company leaves something to be desired, too."

 

"Oh, screw you." and how is that sounding so fond.

 

"Not really in the mood."

 

Stiles makes another strangled sound. "Dude. Good job. I did not see that coming." He blinks at himself, but Derek does not take the obvious comeback and he carries on quickly before he can get the chance. "I feel like we should be categorizing the effects of dehydration on a werewolf. You know. For science."

 

There is another pause, and he really wishes he can see the faces Derek is making.  
"I'm thirsty and my head hurts."

 

"Well that's undescriptive. Does your throat feel like someone took a cheese grater to it?"

 

"No."

 

"Hah, then I'm ahead of you."

 

"Congratulations. Feel like I should point out that I've never had a headache before."

 

"Wow. The upsides of being a werewolf, huh? Although you constantly look like you have a headache, if it helps for comparison." "Ow!" he rubs at the sudden sting in his ear. "What the hell! Did you just flick me?"

 

"Punching you or shoving you against a wall seems a little mean under the circumstances. Also too much effort."

 

"Good to know that some things haven't changed." Only they have. Derek is not his enemy. He probably never was. He's just a guy making the best of a shitty situation, and making some shitty decisions along the way. And feeling him inhale and exhale next to him is pretty much the only plus point to being stuck here in the dark.

 

 

***  


 

 

There’s a piece of gravel underneath his right shoulder blade, and it seems to have grown into the most irritating thing in the word. Even if he was willing to move to try to dislodge it, he still wouldn’t be able to reach the damn thing. And every moment he keeps lying on it feels like it’s getting even bigger and boring even further into his skin. Right now it’s a piece of gravel about the size of _the entire world._  
“How long do you think we've been down here?"

 

He can feel Derek shrug. "I fell asleep. It didn't feel like a long time, but there's no way to tell."

 

"Maybe they're already looking for us."

 

"Maybe." But he clearly meant - probably not.

 

He was just starting to doze again - the terrifying moment of waking up trapped in utter darkness was preferable to being in pain all the time - when Derek clears his throat.  
"I have an idea."

 

"Now there's a terrifying sentence."

 

Derek huffs, and the sound is so familiar it makes him wonder at how much time they actually spend together. "You need to drink something."

 

"No shit Sherlock. Are you planning on pulling a bottle of water out your ass."

 

"There are other options."

 

He is struck by a horrifying thought. "I'm pretty sure the Mythbusters proved that you're not actually supposed to drink pee when you're dehydrated."

 

"I mean a different bodily fluid."

 

"Uhm…"  
It's not that's he's never considered it. Derek is hot. OK, that's an understatement. Derek is physically perfect in every way. And in the past he's thought about various activities resulting in... bodily fluids. At length. But he can't move because of his leg and he's exhausted and everything hurts and he can’t bear the idea of anyone touching him at the moment and this really isn't--

 

"Blood."

 

"Oh thank God. Also gross, no."

 

"Stiles--"

 

"Seriously, no. You get diseases that way. And what would even happen to a person who drinks werewolf blood. There's way too much we don't know."

 

"What we know is what is going to happen if you don't drink anything."

 

"Yes, I'm dead meat, I get it." His voice cracks.

 

"This is simple. I make a cut in my arm, you drink some blood. The cut heals and you live a little longer."

 

"I notice you're not addressing the 'what happens if a person drinks werewolf blood' thing."

 

"Because I don't know. Does that really matter right now."

 

"Yes! Yes it does. This is weird. Just no. Shut up and leave me alone. I'm tired"  
He is tired. My-bones-are-too-heavy-for-my-body tired. His tongue is about three sizes too large but that's fine because his throat is too sore to swallow anyway. Arguing was as physically painful as it was pointless. If he can just fall asleep it will all go away. His leg was a far away pounding already.  
With any luck it will get even farther away. With any luck everything apart from the vague warmth of Derek against his left arm and the movement of his chest as he breathes will fall away. If only he could go home. He squeezes his eyes shut so hard that lights flicker in the darkness, and tries to sleep.

 

 

***  


 

 

He’s floating in the dark. Floating and spinning so fast it’s making him dizzy and colours spark and there’s a buzzing in his head and somehow that damn piece gravel is still poking at his shoulder. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. His stomach swoops at the thought. He needs to wake up so he can stop falling and it’s way too hot. He burning up and Derek is giving off heat like a furnace and Derek is here. He not tumbling through the dark, Derek is right here. He’s breathing quietly right next to him in the thick, musty air and he’s OK. Derek is here.

 

 

***  


 

 

"--iles. Stiles. Wake up."

"hm" This is not going to work. Talking is too much effort. The distant buzzing is still there.

"You really have to drink something."

"That's a nice thought." Ow. Talking bad. Not talking good.

"I am going to open up my arm and you are going to drink. This is not a debate."

"Ew dude." Derek sounds far away, which is odd because he can feel him shift right next to him. But what if that isn't Derek. Oh shit. What is Derek isn't really even here. What if he's alone and this is the company his fevered brain has conjured up for himself. Trapped in close proximity to Derek. That sounds like something his brain might do. Then there is warm skin against his face. "Mfg" On the other hand, his imagination probably would not be that annoying.

"Are you ready? You better drink, I am not going to do this for nothing."

"Fine"

A deep breath tickles his ear, and then Derek's arm is pressed against his mouth and something warm spills in and partially over his cheek. It's warm and thick and he can feel his stomach start to cramp in protest.

"If you throw up I will make you eat it. We cannot afford to waste any liquid."

Which, so gross and not helpful with his heaving stomach, but also not necessary. It might be disturbing in all kinds of ways but to be able to swallow anything is amazing. The best thing that's ever happened to him. Why hadn't they done this ages ago. Because yes. drinking is amazing. His aching throat and thick dry tongue and cracked lips can’t get enough. But there is a rough hand gripping him by the back of the neck, and the arm is pulled away and all he can do is make a little dissatisfied noise in that back of his throat. He's panting. So is Derek.

"I... I think that is enough for now."

And oh yeah. Oops. He'd just literally latched onto Derek's arm like an out of control baby vampire and he almost didn't even care because it felt so good to just be able to swallow something. "Thanks?" He is still chasing the last of the taste on his lips and it doesn't even matter that it's horrifying. And that Derek's breath is still unsteady, and he grunts as he settles back next to him.

 

He is starting to become one with the grit under his back and beneath his head. Or at least it is sticking to him, or to the blood/sweat/hopefully not anything else that is stuck to him. But his throat hurts less and his head isn't quite as foggy - which has to be his imagination because there is no way that drinking something would have an effect on his headache that quickly. After all, he is the one with superior experience in headaches here. Derek grunts again.  
"OK, dude?"

"Don't call me dude." But it's a token protest. His voice is weak and breathy.

"Fuzzyface of the incredible eyebrows. Grumpy Pants the third. Or just---" he coughs and his throat really isn't agreeing with this talking thing he's trying. "--just stick to the classics. Sourwolf."

Derek sign, and there's a brief disgusting wet sound as he shifts against the rock again. "Just get some rest."

Stiles flaps his arm slightly until he hits firm muscle, and leaves it there. At least his left side is warm. And he's sure Derek is there. It's all he really has at the moment.

 

 

***  


 

 

The next time he wakes up the air burns in his throat and his mouth is too dry to swallow. The pain in his leg has become a distant thing. There's a rank smell, but that could be Derek's breath, or himself, or his leg, possibly. He can't feel Derek breathing.  
No. He must have taken too much blood.  
No! And Derek let him.  
And now he was gone.  
"Derek!" the attempt at a shout tears at his throat. He shakes at him with both hands. The pain in his leg flares into the foreground because he's moving but--.

"What."

"Derek." He's really crying now, and he does not even care. It doesn't matter. At least he isn't alone. "You weren't moving."

"I was asleep."

"Right of course. Sorry dude. I just--"

Derek shifts closer, that he can feel the heat of him all along his left side. Close enough that he can feel his breath against his cheek. Stiles closes his fingers in the stiffness of his leather jacket, and just holds on. And they just lay there. His throat is raw and his leg is probably out of alignment again, but at least he has Derek and he isn't going anywhere. A warm hand settles cautiously on his shoulder, and Stiles angles a little closer.

 

 

***  


 

 

He doesn't want to be awake. It hurts. Al he wants is to huddle into the warmth next to him and float away. There is something in his mouth and he sputters and chokes.

"Swallow, Stiles."

The possibility of a joke flutters across his mind but it's gone because he has something to drink and it is everything. He can swallow without pain, he can breathe without pain. When he falls asleep he is just sinking into warm nothingness.

 

 

***  


 

 

Noise. So much noise. He tries to flinch away but Derek is screaming and thrashing, beating against the walls pinning them in, “We’re here, we’re here, we’re here.” and he should be afraid because he's trapped with a werewolf who's lost it and how does he even have the energy for that but--

 

 

***  


 

 

Something cool and smooth against his face. Soft and soothing and he can cry over how good it feels to have some gentle sensation. And it's... it's... Derek's licking him. Quite intently. "Wha-- mphs"  
The fuzziness in his brain goes down somewhat, because there was just a tongue in his mouth. Critically, not his. At least him waking up has snapped Derek out of what he was doing, but the sensation of a tongue against his teeth stays. Teeth.  
"Not dead yet."  
This seems like a crucial point. He said Derek could eat him after he was dead, and OK, maybe it's hard to tell what's going on down here, but he is quite critically still alive right now. It might be a close thing, but still. And if nature documentaries have taught him anything it's that he does not want to be eaten alive.

Derek huffs. He can feel his breath against his cheek.  
"You have blood on your face." He sounds very serious, as though this point is of utmost importance.

"I'm pretty sure I have blood on my everything. And that's not an invitation." At least that's what he intended to say. But his tongue is too thick too move and his head might be full of sand and grit and he's is sinking down into a hole and trying to keep from falling is just too much effort.

 

 

***  


 

 

His left arm is cold. This is a terrible, terrible thing. It takes him a while to remember why this is such a terrible thing, because there is so much going on. Everything that had become far away was there again. The stabbing in his leg with every movement, every breath, every heartbeat. Fire in his raw throat, the air burns. His head burns. This can't be right. But his left arm is cold. He tries to feel for Derek, but he can't move and everything hurts.  
Derek was supposed to be OK. But his left arm is cold.  
"Derek?" he tries, but it's a voiceless croak.  
He tries again.  
"Derek?"

"He's in the other ambulance."

Derek in an ambulance. That'll be the day. Although if they got him in there things would have to be pretty bad. He tries to open his eyes but they're stuck together with gunk.  
" 's OK?" One eyelid tears open and pure white light sears his eye. His squeezes it shut.  
"--has to be OK. He tried to save me."

"He looking better than you are kiddo. He'll be OK, you'll both be OK."

Was that his dad? His voice is strange. He tries opening his eyes again but just gets smears of colour. "Dad?"

"I'm right here kiddo. Don't worry. Just hang on."

His dad noticed he was missing. He found him. They were going to be OK. There's a warm hand at his side and he's going to be OK.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I actually looked it up and drinking blood when you're dehydrated is a _really_ bad idea. It only ended up helping Stiles because werewolves.  
> In fact, don't drink blood at all - anything above a small amount can give you iron poisoning, which is apparently a thing.  
> This has been the totally unnecessary public health announcement for the day.
> 
> Also, I can't think of any reason why werewolves should have any particular resistance to dehydration, for what it's worth.


End file.
